Between Have and Want
by tearsofamiko
Summary: Between have and want is an emptiness so complete, it echoes. ONE-SHOT


Title: Between Have and Want

Author: Tearsofamiko

Rating: K

Disclaimer: I own nothing about the NCIS series, its characters or plotlines. Why rub it in?

Spoilers: None

Summary: Between have and want is an emptiness so complete, it echoes.

A/N: This was inspired by something I did last night (how I ate my pudding), but it ended up being something completely different than intended. I wanted a silly, slightly fluffy, maybe-maybe-not McAbby piece; instead we have an angsty McGee musing on what's been denied him. Who knew?

.:::.

"Ooh! I love them!" Abby's voice drifts out of the kitchen over the sound of the fridge door slamming. He tosses a glance over his shoulder as a drawer is tugged open and the silverware clatters, watching as she navigates around his apartment with perfect ease. He smiles a little at how comfortable she is here, but it fades quickly as he remembers the number of times she's made clear where they stand. In a flash, though, he shoves away the momentary melancholy, back to his original mood by the time Abby plops down on the other end of the couch.

He watches her for a moment as she stares at the TV. Barefoot, in a pair of loose, black track pants, her hair down around her shoulders, she's completely soft and natural. It pleases him in some unexplainable way to know how relaxed she is around him, revealing facets of her personality sometimes hidden by caffeine fueled chaos. He smiles softly as she focuses on the TV show, completely absorbed in the talent act currently performing, as she tugs open a pudding cup.

Reaching over, he dips his finger into her snack, daring her ire to snag a dollop for himself. She shoots him a glare, whapping his arm with the... fork ...she's holding?

"Um, Abby?" he questions, pointedly eyeing her eating utensil.

"Hush, McGee. I wanna hear...ew! He's such a perv!" she mutters at the show, waving the hand not holding the pudding at him. He's surprised, then amused to see her flip the fork over, dipping the flat metal handle into the chocolate dessert to take a bite. Still grinning, he turns and tries to focus on the show.

The picture she presents, though – legs curled under her, hair ruffled from her pigtails, rapt expression – commands his attention again and again. Until he glances over and just stares, finding it incredibly difficult to breathe.

Mostly backlit by the kitchen light, with the light of the television casting flickering shadows across her pale skin, her attention had briefly shifted from the show to her pudding cup as she works to get the entire snack out of the container. As he watches, she licks at the fork handle, smiling to herself at the flavor, before putting it in her mouth to remove all of the pudding. It's adorable and he's transfixed by how cute, how amazingly familiar, how _Abby_ the action seems and he wants her to be his so badly it takes his breath away. In that moment, he completely zones out, lost in the memories.

The look of pleased surprise she'd greeted him with as he stepped off the elevator for the first time, all those years ago.

A million hugs in a million different situations, as she comforted him, greeted him, reassured him, celebrated with him over the years.

Her steady support during his first year on Gibbs' team, despite the ending of their romantic relationship.

The way she'd tested and retested the scenario leading up to his accidentally shooting that cop, obsessing over it for almost a month, until he made her stop. He knows she still pulls it up occasionally, though he's never said anything.

How she'd clung to him after Kate's death and during Gibbs' absence, as though she feared letting him out of her sight.

And – with a jolt of longing strong enough he digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands to keep from reaching for her – the way her skin felt, the way her lips tasted, the fire in her eyes as he took his time, memorizing her body, relearning it with each touch, each sigh.

The warmth of her gaze finally breaks through his distraction and he raises his eyes to meet her questioning stare. She studies his eyes for a moment, a small line appearing between her eyebrows as she tries to figure out his thoughts. Finally he dredges up a tired smile and something in his face makes her look away. With a sigh, he leans his head back against the back of the couch, watching the flickering shadows on the ceiling above the TV.

Somehow he finds it symbolic – and strangely ironic – that, despite a mere foot of space between them, he's never felt lonelier.


End file.
